Fable - Ask Withstand The Heat

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Sparks flew as the fundamentals of the craft and application of the domain of Flame were proven to the world. That all was tinder, all could be consumed, all could glow, all could be ignited and give way to that glorious light and heat that Ravelyn knew as her true place of comfort. Places where smoke did writhe and snake and billow she did breathe deep and find that hint of a sting against her lungs a reminder of that this world was a hostile, yet majestic place, a place that she could brace herself against and observe in all it's ferocious intensity through conditioning, skills and arcane prowess. Skills she hoped to impart upon the hopeful she had the responsibility to train and orientate against and with the fickle nature of fire and primordial forces that the domain of Flame did command.

It was the dead of night in a small secluded area of the forest where the river did flow within hearshot. She struck the flint theatrically, as if she was in command of a power far greater than simple friction across stones.

Ravelyn watched with eyes that were almost entirely black, save for the thin line of brown that surrounded her wide pupil, as the sparks from striking the tools of her tinderbox greeted the kindling, lighting up up her eyes in the process. Those eyes watched how the sparks failed to receive the welcome it desired. Such was the challenge, from the simplest and most fundamental elements of civilisation, to the most advanced, fire was a constant comfort, friend, foe, and danger.

And so much more...

The Knight Pursuant made a habit of returning to the simplest application of the lore of Flame, with trusting tools and fickle resources. She knew she could easily summon all manner of fires. The ones that provided much light and little heat to illuminate her presence in this clearing of the vale, the ones that provided moisture to evaporate and boil so that the damp wood might catch easier, the ones that she might use in battle and in training.

And the rest...

But this was an exercise she willingly applied herself to, the temptation of frustrations tempered her. Reminded Ravelyn how it was to struggle to command the flame at all, and the satisfaction that was wrought from summoning it through typical fashion. The simple pleasures and the simple act of flame. Like a chef with simple ingredients, the limitation provided appreciation of what was possible. The sparks flew, and tinder began to grasp the concept that was being asked of it.

That's it, become, become,” Ravelyn said with a smile as her eyes flashed as the tinder caught fire through the mundane methods enacted. The crackle to her was like the crackle of freshly made crisp bread, appetising to the senses and full of promise.

She tucked her tinderbox away and allowed herself to feel the effect of the small fire that had been constructed for a noble purpose beyond her own practice and ritual of humility towards that she had dedicated her life. The flame danced and began to creep up the kindling in small measure, and while Ravelyn watched intently with pleased eyes, the fire provided no nourishment in warmth to her bones, for the armour and banner that was lodged into the earth prevented such simple pleasures in their design. She blew gently into the flame to give it further fuel and leaned back as she watched the fire develop.

Let me enjoy this,” Ravelyn sighed and closed her eyes as she unlocked the safety protocols on the wards and enchanted materials of her armour, and compelled her banner, which bore the orange hues of the flame as it fluttered in the languid breeze that did encourage the campfire to take hold proper, to dim it's arcane radiance. These two fold protections allowed her to walk into raging fires and infernos, and even to stand up against the dragonflame should she truly apply her mystic wit to the task of survival. She made a habit of encountering drakes to test this very skill.

To make my fellow knights, from Captain to Squire, survive the fire I know so well. That is my cause. From the smallest flame to the most glorious. They shall know it as I do.

The small campfire flickered as Ravelyn considered the lessons to impart, but more over, each name of the knights who might fall to the flame should it be used against them. Ravelyn was a woman who wasn't daunted by risk and danger, indeed she was exhilarated by the prospect of dragons expelling flame at her, at lava that flowing around her feet, of all manner of hazards she had seen and survived. But the prospect of the manpower in the Order to be reduced to ash? To be imparted terrible burns and to fear that which she loved, a roaring fireball and to brace oneself against the heat?

Ravelyn shook her head and extended her hands to the fire.

It just wouldn't do.

She felt the cold air mingle with the heat and felt the interplay of the two sensations fresh. To her, this fire was nothing. But to the one who she waited for, the merest prospect of fire might illicit great fear. And to that the Knight Pursuant had decided that one in particular would be the first to receive her specialised training, and had invited them tonight to this place.

If I can teach Ars Propheta-Capabilis, one so vulnerable to the fire, to face it as I do...

Ravelyn threw a branch into the fire and set a great cloud of embers to rise up and towards her face. She did not flinch, but instead embraced the pain as a reminder of what small measure of flame could do terrible harm to one such as Ars.

She allowed the sting to remain with her, before speaking a word of healing and soothing the minor burns about her face.

Perhaps that is too much to ask, to judge their potential by my own abilities. But I must try. I must try to make them unafraid. Untouchable.

She nursed the fire with another branch, this time carefully laid down. She stood and allowed the shadows to be driven by the light, and for her expected company to arrive. She thought of all the lessons she had researched, prepared and delivered over the years. How she thought that she had neglected her duties to her comrades by researching the domain of flame, to traverse the world and develop new techniques and appreciations of the world, to harvest materials. Materials she had gathered now in a small burlap sack that would eventually reach Rulgak.

Never enough time, resources or training for my liking. Still.

Tonight I amend that short coming, come hell or high fire.

Ars Propheta-Capabilis
 
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Ars Propheta-Capabilis

Vest-pocket Apothecarist
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"In sight ahead, Syntax, the ground on which Ravelyn promises to guide against the harm of flame!"

The twinkle-and-dance of a flame shone through the underbrush, not dissimilar in look to the sunrise burning at the horizon, best viewed in Ars' opinion from a tree branch to avoid the cutting glare of freshly breeching light. They were the distance of a fully grown beech tree away from their destination, a mighty distance to cover for two such a size as Ars and Syntax, and it gave Ars plenty of time to mull over their task at hand.

I know what Ravelyn does, walk among the flames like I walk among the puddles. I wonder if I'll be challenged to do the same?

Ars looks back to check on the pack strapped to the beetle's back, unfortunately preventing flight, but thankfully tolerated for love and treats. The tall, corked clay pot, nearly as large as Ars themselves but ultimately quite small to a full-sized humanoid teeters back and forth in the middle from the lumps in the hidden hare trail, while two little bags on either side sit quite still with the otherwise smoothness of Syntax's locomotion. All was in order, and every other idea in lieu of packed supplies was fresh in Ars' mind.

Mud, blood, and cake. Mud, blood, and cake. Only the mantra we made; mud, blood, and cake.

The flame grew nearer in sight as Ars refocused on the path ahead, as did the shadow of a breeze-swept banner and the form of whom they could only guess to be Syr Ravelyn. She was a brave sort, brave and dangerous, and while they held no doubt to their own ensured safety at her hand, the thought of a seemingly uncontrolled flame set a nervous little roll about Ars' little stomach. They did work with fire near daily, between candles and oil burners, to the rolling heat within the tiny little stove built just for them, to the greater fire stacked in the tiny fireplace, resting underneath the great, bathtub sized pot that Ars couldn't move without help, but they were the calmest, most tame of the flames. The house cats of the being that lent its warmth and life to warm-blooded and cold-blooded mortals alike. This they were going to face was an entirely different beast.

Ars gave Syntax a brush around the neck-edge of his carapace to soothe themself, getting quite a loud, pleased rattle from the beetle's mandibles, which incidentally announces their arrival. As they broke the edge of the clearing and into view, Ars marvelled as the dazzling flames cast wonderful shadows about the clearing. The campfire, a great mound of logs and sticks and kindling awash with fire, sends a perceptible warmth farther than perhaps a warm-blooded layman may expect. It was only a few little ticks worth on Ars' scale, but alongside the scent of smoke and glow of light, it was another good warning of a large flame's presence for Ars to notice before walking into danger.

They reach to their waist, retrieving a palm-sized oval stone with a dished area on one side, tied about with a little woven cord to hang from their belt when not in use. Holding it to their mouth in their palm as one might a bowl of soup, Ars could speak across it, and the enchanted Singingstone would amplify their voice to around library volume, expending only a little energy.

"Good midnight, Ravelyn! I have readied my supplies and sipped deeply from my garden, I think I'm ready."

I do hope I'm ready.

Ravelyn Anne Conleth
 
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Ravelyn gave a broad smile as she saw her charge approach upon the back of Ars' mighty steed, a smile that brimmed with promise of an exciting night ahead. The way of the Wild was strong with this one, Ravelyn thought. She considered that out of all of those she was charged with training and guiding in her self appointed task that Ars was the most of the Wild. And most worthy of becoming unafraid, or at least prepared to contend with, the mighty fire that roars ready and waiting within any fuel source or pyromancer's whim and command.

Good midnight to you,” Ravelyn said with respect of the sound of the fire, her tone low and smooth. The fire crackled and provided syncopation to the murmurs of the forest, providing accent to the movement underfoot as Ravelyn began to pace back in forth from her position of the fire. As she moved the smoke did make small effort to conceal her, and the light illuminated her features and made the meeting all the more sensitive to the dramatic. The mood was shared by the fire, which crackled loudly, as if agitated and excited by the prospect of two being present to it's offering of heat and light and drama instead of just one so accustomed to it.

Ravelyn was not a woman to doubt herself, but in this moment regarding one so small and vulnerable to the fire, she considered her best laid plans and speeches and found them all wanting.

So noble a person to stand ready to learn about that which might consume them so utterly. Bravery takes many forms.

She decided upon this turn of phrase.

"You speak assuredly, this is wonderful to hear Ars. I know, and I have thought deeply on this, that what I know and love and teach, the way of Flame, could be, and I don't say this to scare you, but to pay my respect to the circumstance, quite catastrophic to one such as you. Normally, I'd suggest those in my charge would commit great acts of boldness. But you are brave to simply stand before such a fire such as this. Thank you for your trust in this training. I shall guide you. Tell me. What is your command of the lore of Loch? And what supplies have you brought to this place of fire? Show me.”

The answer to the question would reveal much, Ravelyn thought.

Ars Propheta-Capabilis